Fine Tooned

By David Weitz

In the process of building Sober Shepherds, I stumbled across the Recovering Cartoonist online by sheer coincidence. I immediately dove into his website looking for more because, speaking for myself, one is never enough. I couldn’t get him on the phone quickly enough to request a handful of his thousands of recovery-themed cartoons. Generous as ever, he not only sent the few I had already grown attached to — he even sketched a couple specifically for this feature.

Over the months that followed, Ben and I developed an easy creative friendship. At one point, he even started sketching cartoons of me as “the editor,” complete with a recurring joke he titled a D.W.I. In Ben’s world, that didn’t stand for Driving While Intoxicated — it meant a David Weitz Interview. Only someone in recovery could flip an old scar into a punchline that lands with warmth instead of shame. It quickly became one of my favorite running jokes between us.

I already assumed from his clever work that Ben Canha had been recovering for quite some time. Then, after talking with him further, he revealed that he had been clean and sober for over thirty-seven years at the time — which now places him at over thirty-six years sober today. Before our fall issue went to print, he sent me three of his published books, and I was awed by his ability to capture the comical situations that recovery brings to those who can identify with the lifestyle.

After his contribution to our inaugural edition — and now with a national comedian featured in our second issue — I couldn’t think of a better cover story than “Ben Ben the Fisherman,” a man who fit the theme of our winter issue to a tee. His personal story, along with his long-term love affair with his pencil, includes a life he chooses not to erase so that he never forgets where he came from.

When Ben Canha is not doodling, he teaches nursing at the University of Maryland. Before becoming a teacher, he worked in a government nursing position with an associate’s degree. Twenty-four years ago, that almost came to an end.

“What was life like for you, Ben, twenty-four years ago?” I asked.

“I was not going to work. I was not making my mortgage payments. I was even debating whether or not to make my car payments — just living in that fear of impending doom,” Canha replied.

“So how did you eventually find your way into recovery?” I asked.

“By the grace of God — and it was no merit of my own — my boss at the time staged an intervention and told me that I was going to lose my job. She told me she would report me to the Maryland State Board of Nursing if I didn’t get help. So I went inpatient, kicking and screaming, I might add,” he explained.

“I know it’s been a long time, but do you still know her?” I asked.

“I do. She actually supported me in my recovery after I got clean and sober. I credit her for being my mentor and such a role model. She came to my anniversaries for a number of years — even my wedding. She encouraged me to go back to school, too. I eventually got my bachelor’s degree and then my master’s degree, which led to promotions and a career change. This past year, after thirty-one years of government service, I retired with a full pension.”

“And now you’re teaching?” I asked.

“Yes, I’m now teaching nursing at the University of Maryland,” Canha said.

As hard and uncomfortable as sobriety may seem at first, it’s astonishing what happens once an addict fully surrenders his will. Working with a sponsor and learning to trust in a higher power of your own understanding can bring new meaning to life — a depth you didn’t know existed.

Although Ben Canha was working in the field of nursing long before he ever considered getting sober, what he had not discovered until sobriety was his natural ability to sketch cartoons — a gift that would reveal a part of himself he never knew was there.

“When did you discover your ability to draw, Ben?” I asked.

“Somebody introduced me to a book called The Artist’s Way. I read it, and it said something like true creativity is a rewarding and expanding experience of who we really are,” he said.

“So when did you draw your first recovery cartoon?” I asked.

“Soon after reading that book, I drew my first recovery cartoon, and it sat on a friend’s refrigerator for over a year. One day someone announced at a meeting that they were looking for submissions for a recovery newsletter. So I took the cartoon off my friend’s fridge, made a copy, submitted it — and they published it.”

“And when, after that first cartoon, did you really start getting into it?” I asked.

“I realized that at every meeting there was always a one-liner that made everyone laugh. So I said to myself, ‘All you have to do is write it down, find the essence of what made it funny, and draw it into a cartoon.’ That was in the year 2000. And I swear — for the next eighteen months I drew like a madman. One or two cartoons a day. Then I realized I had enough to publish a book. And then the idea came to organize them according to the steps and traditions,” he said.

“What would you tell someone who’s new in sobriety and wants to find their creative side?” I asked.

“I feel it opens up so much self-worth, and it’s incredibly fulfilling to find creative expression. Whatever creativity you have, you need to find what’s true for YOU. I can only speak for myself, but when I’m drawing, I feel so connected to my higher power. It feels like, ‘Yeah, thank God,’ and also, ‘Way to go, Ben!’” he replied.

When he’s not recording every Boston Red Sox game, jamming out to Frank Zappa, or going for a long therapeutic run, you may find Ben Canha deep-sea fishing for something much bigger than goldfish. If he’s not at a meeting before sunrise giving back what was so freely given to him, he’s most likely teaching nursing at the University of Maryland. He’s not only a dedicated father to his 21 year old-old twins, Kevin and Karen — he’s also a loving husband to his wife, Beth, of twenty-four years who shares his spiritual principles.

Ben Canha is not only an unbelievable example that creativity can be discovered in recovery — he is a living testament that recovery works if you work it.